


Never Felt So Wanted

by GlassRain



Category: Leif & Thorn (Webcomic)
Genre: Bilingual Character(s), Canon Disabled Character, Compare and Contrast, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Coital, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 10:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11311278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRain/pseuds/GlassRain
Summary: They leave the festival early, and find other ways to fill a sunny afternoon. An exercise in comparative body types; Leif learns the proper handling of scars; Thorn makes detailed observations of blushing.





	Never Felt So Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something comforting & affirming about Thorn's scars after this strip  
> http://leifandthorn.com/comic/summer-sunshine-1684/
> 
> and then it grew into a whole thing of exploring (appreciating) how different their bodies are.

Their first time in bed together is after Summerfest -- well, technically, their first time is whilst Summerfest is still going strong, but by the time Leif finishes singing a love song on the karaoke stage Thorn realizes he can't fight these feelings anymore. If he had been a little younger and a lot less professional, he might have pulled Leif into the nearest community-center bathroom and taken him over the sink.

As it is they manage to keep their hands off each other until they reach Thorn's apartment, and then they leave a trail of discarded clothes and half-crushed flower petals across the sitting room floor.

It turns out Thorn is wild about kisses. Leif would just as soon rest his head on Thorn's shoulder and move their focus to more intimate body parts, but Thorn keeps his tongue in Leif's mouth until sheer lack of air forces them to break it off. He nuzzles Leif's face whilst catching his breath, panting warm against Leif's skin.

It turns out Leif makes the most tantalizing noises when his hair is pulled. Thorn wants to kiss a path down his neck, but flashes on that cold rainy night when two fanged smiles glinted in the shadows of the embassy gazebo, and skips straight to hiking off their tunics instead.

Thorn's chest is all over dark curls except where it's broken up by scars: the heartsword one Leif expected and another pale slash on the stomach from who-knows-where. The muscles of his arms flex deliciously as he picks Leif up onto the mattress, then slides his hands down Leif's abdomen -- smooth and unscarred and almost-hairless by comparison. Though Leif spends too much time hauling garden supplies to be truly soft around the middle, he's never thought of his stomach as a selling point until Thorn caresses it like something precious, like the journey to Leif's waistband is something he wants to savor.

Leif's cock is already straining against the tights, a spot of precome soaking through the white fabric. When Thorn pulls back the fabric he finds it startlingly pink -- he's seen how vividly a blush can tint Leif's pale cheeks, but somehow he never put together that an erection would do the same. He doesn't waste time stripping away the tights and underwear so he can plant himself between those long legs and take Leif firmly in hand.

Thorn catches Leif's eye in a wordless check-in for approval, and Leif nods, hips trying to buck up into Thorn's fist even though it's already gripping him to the hilt. (He wonders if this is how Thorn holds a sword, and his cock throbs so hard he's sure Thorn can feel it.) When Thorn starts playing with his foreskin with thumb and finger, Leif's head falls back, eyes closed in bliss.

It's not the first uncut cock Thorn has seen, but it's the first one he's been in a position to stroke, and he gets a surge of embarrassingly erotic pride that Leif is responding so well. He bends over Leif's body, trying to brace himself on the mattress with one elbow so he can kiss Leif's mouth whilst still stroking --

\-- and this is too much for his damaged arm. A sharp cramp runs through the muscle, or what's left of it.

There isn't any gasp or grunt of pain, not that Leif can hear, but when Thorn stops moving he opens his eyes to figure out why. Thorn's head is close enough that his thick waves of hair are shadowing Leif's face, which is close enough that Leif doesn't need his glasses to see the strain around Thorn's eyes.

"Can you . . . ?" asks Thorn in shaky Sønska. He sticks on the verb, and settles for rolling over onto the bed at Leif's side, gesturing for Leif to get on top. "My hand . . . I'm done, I can't . . ."

Leif is used to partners who insist on coming before he does, but that's not what this is. He's sure of it once he sees that Thorn's left arm, the one with the burn scar from elbow to shoulder, is lying completely still on the navy-blue sheets.

"Of course," he breathes, fumbling for Thorn's undershorts -- the only stitch of clothing either of them still has on. They're loose enough not to throttle Thorn's own erection, tight enough that Leif can tell it's bigger than his own, even before he pulls it free and finds that it's also curved and brown and -- huh. He clamps down on a double-take and guides the shorts slowly down Thorn's legs, recalibrating whilst admiring the strong muscles of Thorn's thighs, the smaller scars peppering his calves, the way stroking the inside of his knee makes his toes curl.

The angle gives Thorn a whole new view of Leif's ass, which he'd spent half the day trying not to stare at, barely-covered as it was by the lacy trim of his tunic. It's round and firm and makes him think of a peach -- not that he says so out loud, partly because he's not sure Leif would appreciate being compared to food, partly because he can't remember the Sønska word. He wonders suddenly how Leif feels about spanking, and how pink his hand could turn those cheeks if Leif let him.

Leif tosses the shorts out of the way and curls over Thorn for a kiss, slinging one knee over in between Thorn's legs to give him a better angle. With his good arm Thorn cups Leif's head to hold him in place, then moves down and squeezes a handful of Leif's ass, bringing up one thigh so Leif can rut against it.

Part of Leif wants to collapse into the embrace and lose himself in his own pleasure. It's clear Thorn could control the whole situation with one hand (almost literally) tied behind his back. The impulse loses out to the part of Leif that wants to please Thorn in return, to stroke Thorn's cock and suck on Thorn's tongue until the knight comes apart underneath him.

He squeezes Thorn's erection, now pressed between their bodies, in imitation of the way Thorn squeezed his. Fingers confirm what his eyes told him, that the foreskin simply isn't _there_ , and he doesn't know if it's some kind of body-mod or another entry in Thorn's catalog of injuries or if that's just how foreigners grow.

Any confusion in his touch passes Thorn by completely. Especially when Leif sucks on a couple of fingers and rubs the head of Thorn's cock in slick circles. He's cautious, experimental, until Thorn half-involuntarily clamps his thighs around Leif's leg to pin him in place. "That's good. That's so good."

"Yes?" With his spare hand Leif brushes back some of Thorn's curls, sweat-dampened and frizzing around his face. "You like it?"

"I like it." Thorn's left arm is still stiff, but he takes a chance, bends at the elbow, gets it into Leif's hair. Leif's stroking falters, hips moving more urgently against Thorn's body.

Thorn comes in a shuddering groan with Leif's mouth on his, thrusting into Leif's fist, balls clutched and firmly massaged in their tangle of limbs. Leif comes when Thorn remembers the phrase he was prompted to use when a pet does well, and whispers _you're a good boy_ in his ear. All his rhythm dissolves in a torrent of gasping and flailing; he grabs Thorn's arm for support without seeming to notice, too swept up in panting against Thorn's neck.

A pleasant, hazy warmth settles over Thorn's mind. He tucks a few strands of Leif's hair behind the delicate point of his ear -- they get disheveled again in seconds because Leif is still heaving for breath, so he does it again, only really interested in getting to caress Leif's face.

As the focus comes back to Leif's eyes, he realizes with a start that his palm is curled around Thorn's scar. The big one, the _burn_ one -- dark and red and raised up from the normal skin of his arm, with a rough topography all its own. He lets go with a jerk, then wonders if he's offended Thorn more by touching it or not-touching.

Thorn nudges him gently to roll over. Leif falls onto the bed beside him, and Thorn turns so they're lying face-to-face. "It's okay. Touch it if you want. I don't want it to be . . . a mystery, to you. I don't want it to be weird."

It's been a long time since Leif's first shocked reaction at how bad the burn looks. When he defended it to Kale earlier today, it was instinctive and matter-of-fact in a way that's hard to fake. Thorn wants him to know that it's not off-limits, not to him, not now that his touch is so enthusiastic on every other inch of Thorn's skin.

Leif pokes the hard ridges of scar tissue. If you tilt your head the right way it looks like Thorn spilled something on his arm, and there would be ordinary skin underneath if you peeled it off. "Do you have sensation? I mean," he adds, when Thorn clearly doesn't know the word, "can you feel this?"

"I do. I can. It's, uh, different," says Thorn. "You should be more firm. Light touches . . . they itch."

The fingertip-touches turn into full-on palming. The scarred area is twice as big as Leif's handspan, so he moves slowly up and down it, taking in the texture. "Did you hurt it?"

Thorn raises an eyebrow.

"I mean just now!" exclaims Leif, a blush of embarrassment sweeping up his neck to replace the fading blush of arousal. "You stopped moving it earlier."

"It has limits." Thorn still doesn't want to move it much, even to drape it over Leif's waist. Instead he links their legs idly together, feet hooking around feet. "Sometimes if I exercise a lot, or if I move it too much, it gets, like . . ." Stuck for a word, he wiggles his fingers -- "the opposite of this" -- then holds them rigid and straight -- "like this."

Normally he's good about remembering not to strain himself, but the pre-injury habits are still fully-formed in his subconscious, easy to slip into if he lets his guard down. He has a lot of dreams where the scarring isn't there at all. When he's not having nightmares about the burn ward, anyway.

"Stiff?" offers Leif. "The muscles get stiff."

"Yes. That. They'll be okay after I rest."

Leif squeezes the bicep one last time, then moves to touch one of the streaks of come drying in Thorn's chest hair. He realizes with an illicit thrill that he isn't sure which of them it came from. "Do you want me to, ah, clean us up? So you can rest."

An image flashes through Thorn's mind of Leif licking him clean, pink tongue lapping at his abs like a kitten. His soft cock twitches hopefully at the thought. "Yes please," he says, though he isn't totally surprised when Leif gets up instead -- and leaves in the direction of the bathroom before Thorn can figure out the Sønska for _there are wipes in the wardrobe, top shelf._

Once Leif has deciphered how to work the weird foreign faucets, he returns with a washcloth and sponges them both off. Thorn sits up and takes over to finish the bits he missed, with some extra attention to Leif's nipples that he's certain is gratuitous, not that he's complaining.

Something in his face catches Thorn's eye. He lets the washcloth rest in the crook of Leif's hip and touches Leif's cheek, which curves with a shy smile. The flush there has died down . . . but the bridge of his nose is still strikingly pinkish, and now that Thorn is looking, he can see a pale band where the bridge of his glasses usually sits. "Are you okay? What -- what's this?"

Leif follows the gesture to touch his nose, and winces at the sting. Didn't put on enough sunscreen after all. "It's a burn," he says, then stammers reassurances when Thorn looks stricken: "Not a bad one! This is normal! It'll hurt for a while, then the top layer peels and it'll be tender underneath, then it'll grow in good as new. It's okay, I promise."

"If you're sure," says Thorn, still shaken. He knows pale-skinned northerners can get a special kind of sun damage that's quick and visible, but he hadn't realized it would involve the top layer being fried right off.

"I'm sure."

Leif runs his thumb over Thorn's full bottom lip until he stops biting it, then leans in for a kiss, soft and slow. Thorn melts into it, assuring himself that Leif isn't seriously hurt and that as long as they're in here any other threats will have to go through him first. Out in the sitting room, in the wide span of an afternoon sunbeam, his soulbonded cat stretches out on Leif's fancy new tunic, resting her nose in the silky fabric and purring in contentment at being surrounded by Leif's scent.

**Author's Note:**

> Come be my friend on Tumblr: http://glassrain83.tumblr.com/


End file.
